


Latin Lover

by archea2



Series: The Reason for the Unreason [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John said I wasn't to ask in medias res."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Latin Lover

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a prompt that asked for Sherlock propositioning Greg in Latin.

Later on, Greg will stick to his view that Sherlock must have consulted Mycroft.

Sherlock's knowledge of Latin, he'll claim, is probably limited to "post-mortem" and "alibi", oh, and "cui bono" (yeah, he knows that one, had it pretty much clubbed into him with all the court sessions), and there's no way on earth he could have pulled this little stunt without Holmes major's assistance.

Sherlock will scoff and reply that while Holmes _minor_ ("he says so himself!") used to believe that _age quod agis_ meant "Aggie cooked the haggis", it pertains to logic that he (Sherlock) should be attracted to a dead language. And if Lestrade is quite done with his non sequiturs, he (Sherlock) would appreciate a simple answer to his perfectly simple question.

Greg will make a show of rubbing a world-weary hand over his face. "Remind me what the simple question was?"

* * *

The question is " _Visne me in cubitum ducere?_ ". As far as he can tell, it could mean anything from "Hand me my phone?" to "And why, pray, can't I take the corpse home to meet Mother?"

Unfortunately, the only witness here with a smattering of Latin is Anderson, who is muttering "cubitus, cubitus, oh yes _of course_ " and pointing proudly at the corpse's arm. Damn Anderson for always wanting to impress Sherlock with his command of foreign languages, and damn Sherlock for always choosing a public venue when he feels the need to embarrass Lestrade. Not that he is embarrassed - he's heard worse from Sherlock, both in public and private circumstances - but it's already past four, goddamnit, and rigor mortis waits for no one, not even a polyglot genius.

He is about to raise his voice when Sherlock mutters "you won't, then", lowers his head, and slinkers out of the room, his coat-tails limp and lifeless.

Everyone is staring at Lestrade now - everyone but Anderson, who is nursing a cramp after pointing too long at the corpse.

Lestrade closes his mouth, signals to Donovan to take over, and rushes out after Sherlock. Who is already halfway into a cab when the DI pulls him back. "Care to explain what the hell that was about?" Greg yells over the mid-morning traffic.

"John said I wasn't to ask in medias res!" Sherlock growls back. "That I had to try and be a little tactful for once, and find a way of letting you know indirectly, and that texting wasn't an option! Well I did, and don't tell me you didn't get it, any fool would have got it!"

"Got what?" Lestrade fairly bawls. Sherlock still has one foot inside the cab, and the driver is looking at the two of them as if the late Jeff Hope had just been granted a spiritual heir.

"That I want you to take me to bed!" Sherlock roars. This, when there's a sudden lull in the ongoing brouhaha and all passers-by, including Lestrade's DCI as she steps out of her own taxi, can testify that Sherlock spoke crystal-clear English this time.

Lestrade casts one glance over the scene, remembers Bonaparte's motto that in love flight is the only victory, and pushes Sherlock's shoulders firmly back inside the cab.

* * *

" _Visne me in matrimonium ducere?"_  Sherlock will (later on) repeat docilely enough, his head tucked against Greg's chest, one arm curving in a smooth arc to nick the lighted cigarette from his bedfellow's mouth.

"Matri - oi! Hold on, that wasn't the word at all!" Greg will retort, though too happy post coitum to do more than scratch gently at Sherlock's recumbent nape.

There will be no answer except a delicate snort - though how Sherlock, of all human creatures, can smoke in his sleep without either choking to death or setting the bed on fire is another puzzle. Meanwhile, there are six texts waiting on Greg's mobile - Anderson's Latin, it seems, has finally proved up to par - and the sharp pat of an umbrella tip on his rugless stairs.

Too late, mate:  _consummatum est_ , Greg thinks wickedly, and strokes Sherlock's nape again.

[A/N:  _Visne me in cubitum ducere_  : Will you take me to bed? Anderson's mistake comes from his interpreting cubitus (bed) as the cubitus bone in the human arm.

 _Visne me in matrimonium ducere_ : Will you marry me (lit. lead me into matrimony)?]


End file.
